


The Windhover

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on this kink_meme:<br/>When Merlin's sister Freya falls into the hands of dangerous drug dealers only he cares enough to investigate the clan in order to get her out. As soon as he discovers how big the deal is, there's one person that pops into his mind and that might be able to help him: Arthur Pendragon.<br/>Son of the FBI chief, best agent around, ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend. He might be a lot of *ex* but he's never been a quitter when innocent people where at stake and there's no-one he would trust more in the whole world.<br/>Also, he knows his weak-spot: Merlin himself.</p><p>Arthur's not the son of the FBI chief but other than that it's pretty much the prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Windhover

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: addiction, prostitution, violence

 

**"Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here  
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion  
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!" **

Gerard Manly Hopkins, _The Windhover_

 

**"Ring the bells that still can ring ,**  
 **Forget your perfect offering,**  
 **There is a crack in everything,**  
 **That's how the light gets in."**

Leonard Cohen,  _Anthem_

 

 

 

 

Merlin pulls his hood down further over his head. It's raining and he didn't bring a coat, and while he's not too bothered by the wet, he is a little chilled. He leans, waiting, watching the circle of light under the street light. When he comes, he'll have to go through that. Merlin blinks the water out of his eyes and shoves his hands into this pockets.

It's another half hour before a big, dark car with blacked out windows pulls up. The familiar suited figure gets out the passenger side, leaning back in to say something to the driver, then the car's pulling away and Merlin jogs across the road, intercepting the figure at the door.

"Oi, what do you thi- Merlin?"

"Hello."

"What the- you're soaked. I'm getting soaked."

Arthur doesn't move, staring at him, for a minute. Merlin waits, shivering. Arthur shakes himself and nudges Merlin aside, heading for the door.

"Come on, come in."

Merlin follows him to the clanking lift, down the familiar hall, up the three steps to the old door. Still the same door. Arthur doesn't speak, opening up and nudging Merlin in, turning on the lights and moving around the flat. He returns quickly with a towel and spare clothes.

"Here, change. You know where the bathroom is."

Merlin strips out of his wet things, taking the towel. He isn't modest about his body, Arthur's seen it all anyway, even the scars on the insides of his elbows. He pulls on Arthur's hoody and sweats, feeling tears well up in his eyes at the familiar warmth.

"Oh god, don't cry. You know I don't know what to do with crying people. I'll make you tea!" Arthur says, and Merlin laughs at the desperate edge to it. He does know that Arthur has no idea what to do around upset people, unless he's at work.

"Tea would be nice."

Merlin sniffs and rubs his nose on his sleeve, then remembers it's Arthur's sleeve and looks up, apologetically. Arthur rolls his eyes and walks abruptly into the kitchen. Merlin follows and sits at the table, feeling around with his bare feet until he finds Arthur's slippers and slides them on. Arthur puts the kettle on then goes out, returning with a laundry basket of Merlin's clothes.

"How long are you staying?" Arthur asks.

"Um?"

"Shall I wash these, or just dry them?"

"You can just dry them."

"If you're going to stay here I should wash them. They're not very clean."

"Just dry them! For god's sake, stop... puttering."

Merlin looks down at his hands, ashamed of his outburst. He never can keep his temper around Arthur. Too many nerves jingling away at him. Arthur doesn't react beyond a small sigh, heading for the dryer. Merlin waits, keeping his eyes on his hands, picking at the bits of skin around his finger nails. Arthur thunks a cup of tea in front of him and sits. He doesn't have Merlin's patience, though, and soon he gets restless and starts fidgeting, clearing his throat.

"Just ask, Arthur."

"Don't say it in that long suffering tone. You know I have the right. You turn up here looking like a drowned rat, shivering and dirty, what am I meant to think?"

"I'm clean. I have been since I last saw you."

Arthur's silent for a moment, then lets out another sigh.

"Two years. That's really good."

"It's bloody great, actually."

"I know."

Merlin doesn't answer, because Arthur has the right. He's sat beside Merlin when he was coming down, sweating and shitting and vomiting it out. He's picked him up from hell holes without a word and done it again and again. He'd watched Merlin fall and picked him up until Merlin had been so weighted down with guilt he'd broken them up, and still Arthur had let Merlin stay, had been there when things got bad again. So Merlin allows him to think he knows.

"Yeah," is all he says.

"Do... do you have a sponsor?"

"Yeah, I do. He's good."

Gwaine. Different addiction, but he'd known Merlin's mind. Merlin had latched on, desperate at that point, and Gwaine had let him. Still lets him. There's only one reason he's here instead of at Gwaine's tonight.

"Why aren't you there?"

"Because."

Merlin's always been surprised about how much Arthur lets go from him. An impatient man, not an unkind man but not gentle, Arthur's never been anything but patient with Merlin. Or that's not quite true, they've had their fair share of blow outs. Even Arthur has limits.

"Merlin, you know I don't mind you coming here and you don't have to tell me anything, but it's half past twelve, I've just pulled an eight hour shift after a week of over night stake outs and I'm knackered. I have no patience. Either tell me or let me make up the couch for you."

"It's not easy."

"It's never easy. You never give me credit for- I'm not doing this. Tell me or take the couch, I don't care."

Arthur gets up and heads for the sink. He stands for a moment, leaning into it. Merlin knows he's being unfair, that he shouldn't be here. He also knows that Arthur's right; Merlin never gives him any credit, never thinks he'll understand anything about pain. He should know better.

"It's Freya," Merlin says.

Arthur doesn't turn, which Merlin's glad of. He's having enough trouble with this anyway, without having to face Arthur.

"Freya's seventeen, Merlin. Tell me you didn't."

"Of course I didn't! How could you think I'd get my own sister hooked?"

"You have a history, Merlin," Arthur says, harsh and cold.

Which is true and fair enough. He hadn't actually given Morgana the drugs, but he'd introduced her to The Druid. The club's since shut down, but it doesn't matter. They're all still hooked.

"How is Mo-"

"You don't get to ask that. Ever. What happened with Freya?"

"I don't know. One second she's doing great at school, next she's staying out late, coming home drunk and worse, not introducing her friends. I knew the signs."

"Sorry, Merlin. Morgana's fine. She and Gwen are still in Edinburgh, they both stayed on to do masters."

"I didn't want Mum to worry, so I was careful and quiet. I talked to Freya, but we're not great still. She still blames me for Dad. So she wouldn't talk to me, and then she stopped coming home. For a while I knew where to find here, I could find her, but then she just vanished. I didn't know where to look, where to even begin. I didn't know if I could look."

"You did."

"I did. I found her easily enough, really. She's living in a dump of a house with other girls. It's not the worst- they strip and dance but nothing... nothing further. She gets paid in drugs. Her own little addiction."

"You've done worse."

"The man who owns the house, I went to see him. I walked in on something. Nimueh was there."

Arthur does turn now, eyes shadowed, face grim.

"Nimueh Lake was there? Merlin, please tell me it's not."

"I'm pretty sure. I've been back, talked to Freya. She says she's happy and doesn't want to leave, but I caught her unawares, walking home, the other night. She was wasted and had gone over the edge to needing, she said she couldn't leave. They know my Mum, they know who our Dad is, they know who I am. Every time I go near the place I get this itch."

"What do you want from me, Merlin? If you're right, if Freya's got caught up with Cenred, you know there's nothing I can do."

"No, there's nothing the FBI can do. Nothing the police can do, nothing anyone can do. Nothing anyone cares to do. No one cares, Arthur. She's one teenager gone off the rails, white trash. Who cares? Well, I care. I want her out. I know you can do it."

"Sometimes I think I've seen all of you, that I know you, but I then you turn and I don't recognise you. What are you doing?"

"I'm being a dick. Get her back, for me. I'm saying that if I don't get her back, I don't know if I can do it without... without..."

Merlin wishes this were an act, but it's not. He knows it'll get Arthur, but he can't help it, either, he really doesn't know what he'll do if he spends too much time in his old haunts. He really is desperate enough to pressure Arthur.

"Merlin!"

"I swear-"

"Don't. Don't make me do this. It's not fair."

"I know you don't think much of me, but I love my sister. What if it was Morgana?" Arthur glares. Merlin knows what he really has to say, so he says it. He looks up and meets Arthur's eyes, "What if it was me?"

Arthur looks like he's going to yell, but instead he takes a deep breath, and a step closer. Merlin tries not to flinch away, it's not like he thinks Arthur will hurt him, but he can't help it. Ingrained sense makes him flinch away.

"I will do this for you, Merlin," Arthur says, dangerously quiet, "I will do this. For you."

Merlin sags in relief, his eyes closing.

"But there is a condition."

Merlin opens his eyes again, wondering what Arthur will ask.

"Anything," he says, which is true; he'll do anything.

"I do this, you stay away. From me, from Morgana, from Freya. I do this, you stay away from everyone I care about. I do this, you stop coming here."

Merlin opens his mouth to say yes, anything, to get his sister back, but he stops. He looks at Arthur to gauge his seriousness. There's nothing in his eyes, no pity, none of the old anguish. Arthur stares him down. Merlin looks back at the table.

"Well? Shall I get her back, do we have a deal?"

Merlin takes a sip of his tea and gathers his courage, looking back at Arthur.

"Why? We have a deal, if you tell me why."

"You're not really in a position to bargain, Merlin."

"Why? Don't... don't you love me any more?" Merlin tries to keep on meeting Arthur's eyes, but he can't.

"Don't I- Don't..."

"You said you'd never stop. Whatever I did."

"Of course I do. I always have. I've proved it enough times, haven't I?"

"Yeah. So why?"

"Because you make me miserable, you put people we both love in danger and I'm so incredibly tired of trying to live without you, only to have you come back, then I have to start all over again. I lost my best friend, my lover, my partner, and you won't let me grieve for him, you won't let me move on. I lost the love of my life and you keep on making it harder and harder."

Merlin looks away and swallows hard. He nods.

"Fine. If you do this, I'll keep away."

"Thank you. I'll go make up the sofa."

"I should go home."

"No."

Arthur leaves the room and Merlin gets up to wash his cup, figuring he can do that much at least. He watches Arthur make up the bed, noting the edge of exhaustion to his movements, wishing he still had the right to sooth it away.

"It took a long time," Merlin says. Arthur doesn't look up, doesn't react, but he doesn't tell Merlin to stop talking, "It took a long time for me to get what I felt counted as 'better', I don't want to lose it. I love Freya and I want her safe more than anything, but I don't know if I can do it if it means going back there. You're right; I got lost. But I found my way out, to this, to something, I don't know if I'd be able to find it again."

"Well don't look at me, I tried and tried and never could help you with that. I did try, Merlin."

"I know. I had to do it myself."

"I hated not being able to do it for you. I always miss you."

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't find him, your friend."

"It's okay. Just stop bringing his body here, yeah?"

Merlin feels something cold inside him. He nods and goes to lie down, hugging himself.

"That wasn't cool, sorry," Arthur says.

"It's fine. I have no right to be here, you're right. I shouldn't have come."

Arthur sighs and sits on the edge of the sofa. Merlin tries not to curl into the heat of his body, but he's not sure he manages.

"Always come. If you need help this badly, you can always come."

"Even after-"

"You know perfectly well I'll never turn you away. That's why you're here."

Merlin stays silent. He knows it. He knows what Arthur's asking. It's his choice, it always is. Merlin's the one with the power. He keeps his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep, which he knows Arthur won't fall for but he does it anyway. Arthur sighs and Merlin feels his hand in his hair.

"Go to sleep, Merlin. I'll make some calls in the morning and see what I can do, but I'll be gone when you wake up. Every bloody time, every time you come around I can't help falling again. I hate you for making me love you."

Merlin keeps his breathing even and Arthur gets up and turns off the lights. Merlin tries to sleep, tries not to feel so guilty, tries to remember that this is the right thing. He's doing the right thing.

Arthur is gone when Merlin wakes up. His clothes are folded by the bed, and they're washed as well as dried. Arthur must have done it after Merlin went to sleep or early this morning. There's a small square of lined paper safety pinned to the jumper. Merlin winces. He used to pretend Arthur's notes fell off things, so Arthur started carefully affixing them. Merlin detaches it, knowing he deserves the small kick, knowing that Arthur probably did it out of habit not spite.

-stay here today, I won't be back till this evening. Eat what you like, I stocked up yesterday. You can use the laptop in the office, but don't touch the computer. The TV you're welcome to. Don't leave the flat till I come back.-

Merlin reads the note twice, considers leaving anyway, then goes to the office to email Gwaine. He can always leave before Arthur gets back if he needs to, he might as well take advantage of Arthur's nice house and good internet connection. Gwaine must be online because he emails back immediately.

-Hey M&M, sounds sucky. Exes suck, and they're always so mean. No, I get it, you changed because of the addiction. It's fair that he misses the old you. You miss the old you. Yes, it's a bit mean to go to him, but clearly you have feelings for him. Let him get to know you now, if that's possible. You're still a good bloke, don't let him persuade you otherwise. Wherever his heart is, it's wrong. You're not worthless, remember that. If he can help you find Freya he should, it's not something you should feel guilty about, she's your sister. Sounds like he's a bit of a dick, to be honest. But I guess if he was there when you were at your worst, he might have reasons. Just take it slow and try to remind him that you're not there anymore and that what he says and does now actually hurts. Call me if you need, my number's on here in case you deleted it again.-

Merlin looks at the desk phone for a full minute before picking it up and calling Gwaine.

-Merlin?-

“Yeah. It's me.”

-Okay. Tell me what's going on.-

“I'm at Arthur's.”

-I know all that, I mean what's going on with you?-

“Oh. Dunno. I'm tired, I don't have energy.”

-That's fine, you don't have to run a marathon yet. Everyone starts small.-

“Arthur always sees me at my worst. I've been doing really well with cravings, but last night I was really edgy and twitchy. He will have noticed, he knows the signs.”

-And yet here you are, still clean.-

“He told me not to leave the flat. He doesn't trust me.”

-Okay. That sucks. I assume you haven't gone?-

“No.”

-You can tell me, you know. In fact you actually have to tell me.-

“I didn't go get anything. I haven't done anything.”

-But you want to.-

“I know I can leave if I want to. If I need to.”

-You don't need it, remember?-

“I know! I want it though! It would make this so much easier. Cenred likes junkies.”

-Yeah, but you're an addict. Why did Freya not trust you to begin with? Do you think she'd thank you for going back when you didn't have to?-

“No. I could get her out, though.”

-High? I don't think you could. You over estimate your ability. Anyway, you said Arthur would do it. How, by the way? if he can't do it as an FBI guy.-

“He did this undercover thing a while ago. Deep. There's an alias he used that was never connected with the FBI, even after he finished.”

-Okay, so what's the big deal for him?-

“He met me, there. He got me out, before I got in too deep with Cenred and really fucked myself up, he got me out.”

-And then, what, dated you? Is that professional?-

“Ha! Arthur’s never anything but professional. No, he didn't date me. Not then. He got me out, but he had to stay under. I didn't know he was anything other than one of Cenred’s guys until almost two years later, when I bumped into him when he was dressed in a suit. I was… more or less clean, that month, and he asked me for a drink. You know what happened then.”

-Yeah, you told me about dating him. Are you calmer, now?-

“Yeah, thanks.”

-Alright. I’m at work, but feel free to stay on or call me if you need it.-

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

-No prob, lovely. See you on Saturday? I’ll come in for it, yeah?-

“I… I don’t think… I’d like that, actually.”

-Done. As you know. I’ll see you then. Remember to look after yourself, remember that you are still a good man, a good person. Even if Arthur can’t see it.-

“I’ll try to remember that. Bye, Gwaine.”

-Bye.-

Merlin sits for a while, then goes to the kitchen. He remembers the lay out, and smiles when he realises Arthur hasn't changed anything. He still keeps his pans in the bottom cupboard, still keeps his eggs in the fridge and still actually unpacks them into the little egg holder there. He still keeps the milk in the refillable milk jug from Sainsburys and he still keeps the butter in a butter dish on the sideboard.

Merlin makes himself some eggs on toast, then sits in front of the TV. He sits for so long, he falls asleep, falling into the dream he always has, the dream of wanting, of needing, and he wakes up shaky. He’s fallen to the side, toppled over while sleeping, so he sits up again and rubs his face, rubbing it away, rubbing away the itching in his fingers.

“You’re awake.”

Merlin looks up, and Arthur’s there, standing silhouetted against the window.

“I’m sorry. I was asleep. I didn't go anywhere, I promise.”

“I know that. I can tell when you’re using.”

Merlin feels that like a kick in the teeth. He tries to keep hold of what Gwaine said, and that Arthur’s just hurt. Always hurt, always hurting. He nods.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You’ve said it enough. I’m glad you’re here, anyway, because I need some answers if I’m going to get Freya out.”

“Have you…. Sorry, I shouldn’t push.”

“Stop apologising. For now, me and you are good. I had a look into it, on my lunch break. I’ve got a few days off next week, and then I’ve got a week. I can work with that. I also talked to the local narc guys here, looked at the situation in the city, and I talked to OC/drugs, and they’ve given me more information on Cenred. They still can’t bring him down, and neither can I. That’s a warning, Merlin, I’m not saving the world.”

“Save the girl, save the world. For me, at least,” Merlin says.

“Heroes. I remember. No need to… sorry, it was just a reference. I’m a little on edge.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It was always ridiculous. Save the cheerleader, save the world? Such a stupid… I’m not promising I’ll get her out.”

“I know. If you try, though, you will.”

“Don’t… I’m not an… avenging angel. That’s what you once called me. I’m not an avenging angel.”

“That was a long time ago. The first time we met. I was so very high.”

“I wish… Sorry. I have questions.”

“Having trouble with your controlling compartmenatlism?” Merlin asks, then covers his mouth, “oh my god! That was meant to be…”

“I know, you told me; I leak. Come on, Merlin. Sit at the table, I’ll make sandwiches, and then I will question you.”

“Right.”

Merlin goes, eats, then subjects himself to Arthur’s interrogation. He’s seen it before, he’s seen Arthur as an FBI agent and seen him question people, seen him on the witness stand in court, but he’s never been subjected to it. It’s hard and painful, but Arthur gets details out of him about Freya’s situation that he didn’t even know he knew.

“Okay, enough,” Arthur says, hours later, putting down a pen and rubbing his face.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t… don’t say it, please. I’m… I know, Merlin, that as much as I deserve better from you, deserved better, needed better, should have had better, you deserve better from me, too. I know I’m not strong enough to give you what you need, and I know I’m cruel about you not being him.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know. Do you know?”

“Do I know what?”

“That I’m sorry, too?”

Merlin looks at Arthur, mouth open. Arthur’s sorry? Arthur’s sorry?

“You are?”

“I am. Always. Sorry I couldn’t save you, sorry that when you saved yourself it wasn’t enough for me, sorry that you’re now strong and real and clean and all these good things, and I can’t see any of them. Sorry that I’m cruel to you, sorry that I can’t be anything but cruel, sorry that you killed him, sorry that I killed him, sorry, just… for everything.”

Merlin stares at Arthur for a while, and Arthur slumps, putting his head in his hand the way Merlin knows means he’s crying. Not crying the way other people do, but the way Arthur does- hidden, tears held back, no sounds, no grief, just red eyes and the small amount of tears he can’t control dampening his eye lashes.

“Okay,” Merlin says.

He aches to go to Arthur, to embrace him, to kiss him and rub his back and laugh, like they used to, like he used to be able to. Soothe away all the fears. But he knows better.

“I’ll go. You know where to find me, if you need more,” Merlin says, getting up and gathering his things.

He pauses at the front door.

“If you don’t need anything else, take her to my mother’s. Then you won’t have to see me again. You’re right, this is painful and not helpful. I won’t… unless something happens, this is goodbye.”

“No, I’ll need more. Sorry, but I will. And I’ll need to come to you, sometimes, as him. I’ll need you to pretend.”

Merlin turns back.

“What? Why? If Cenred sees us, if he thinks you’re there for her-“

“I know what I’m doing. That’s why you came to me. I know how to get her back.”

“Will it screw up your cover?”

“Don’t know, never know that till the end. I’ll play it out. I won’t tell you, it will be better that way, not everything, but Cenred knows I got you out last time. He knows that, if I go back he’ll remember that. It’ll be something I have to fight against, to persuade him of, unless I use it. So I might sometimes come to you, as him. You don’t have to do anything or pretend or play a part, you just have to remember it’s not me. I’ll talk to you more about this later, when I've got it properly worked out.”

“Okay.”

Merlin stands for a moment, watching Arthur, then he leaves. He goes home and curls up on his sofa, considers going to bed, but as usual discards the idea and sleeps where he is. He actually sleeps, which is a first since Freya went. He goes to his group on Saturday and spends hours talking to Gwaine about Arthur and Arthur’s behaviour and his apology and his tears. Gwaine promises to be there, at Merlin’s, the first time Arthur comes as him.

“I won’t exactly be out of place, will I? Everyone knows what I’m like," Gwaine says.

“I always forget you’re famous.”

“Who shall I be to you? This will be fun, I like this bit. I could be your long lost brother! Or your lover.”

“No, that’s the game Arthur’s playing with Cenred, I think. As far as I can tell. That I’m his… possession. He doesn’t share. Arthur shares, I meant… Arthur doesn’t share like… share share… Oh god, shut me up.”

“With a kiss?”

“No!”

“I’ll be your friend, don’t worry. We’ll think of some credible thing or other.”

“Does anyone even know that you don’t drink anymore?”

“Nope. I’m very good at hiding that particular titbit of information.”

Merlin goes home feeling much better, almost cheerful, even, and kind of looking forward to Gwaine getting to act a part. Gwaine’s so enthusiastic about things like that. Merlin walks into his flat whistling, and tosses his keys at the table. They miss by a mile, but a hand snakes out and catches them. Merlin panics for a minute, then recognises Arthur’s wrist. And then Arthur steps out of the shadows.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Arthur says, dropping the keys into the basket on the table.

“Break into my house and lurk, then steal my keys? Oh, I’m not freaked out at all! Also, how bad is it that I recognised you by your wrist?”

“Pretty bad. I don’t want to be seen here as me, so I was sneaky. And I didn’t steal your keys, you unknowingly threw them at my head due to a terrible, terrible aim.”

Merlin laughs, glad of the teasing, even if it’s strained. Arthur’s trying, which is nice. Even if it is only temporary, while he works to get Freya away. Merlin stops laughing and flicks on the lights, going to make coffee. Arthur sits in an arm chair that’s been moved.

“You rearranged my furniture,” Merlin observes, putting the horrible amount of sugar Arthur likes into one of the cups.

“Just a bit. This chair is out of all sight-lines. It seems paranoid, but-“

“No, whatever you think. Like you said, you know what you’re doing. That’s why I came to you. Here,” Merlin passes over the coffee mug and takes his own, sitting on the sofa.

“I like the new place.”

“Don’t be mean! It’s not too bad. I know it’s a bedsit and way, way below your pay-grade but-“

“I actually meant that, Merlin. When have you known me to lie to be nice?”

“All the time, actually. You’re very good at it. You just pretend to be mean, you’re really a sneakily big softie.”

“I like the new place, like I said. Did Freya do the art over the mantel?”

“Yeah. She’s almost good, these days.”

“She used to draw us as stick figures.”

“I remember.”

“Right. I have a few more questions. I’m going to go under on Tuesday, test if it holds, see if I can get in with Cenred again. Narcotics have been feeding information about me for years, so it should still be strong. I’ll come here on Wednesday, as me, and update you. After that, if the plan is still the same, I’ll be him.”

“Will I be your bit on the side? Will we have sex?”

“No. I mean, yes, maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I’m going to see how Cenred remembers, and what he reads you as, and take it from there. I’m pretty certain, it being Cenred, that you’ll be my redeemed whore who I pretend at an upstanding citizen life with. He’ll understand that, though his are usually… very young,” Arthur finishes, in disgust.

“I remember.”

“Sorry. No, we won’t have to have sex. We might sleep in the same room once or twice, but I’ll take the floor.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t set up a camp bed or anything, that’s not subtle.”

Merlin puts the thoughts of the blow up mattress out of his head and smiles sheepishly.

“Glad I can still read you, sometimes,” Arthur says, “okay. Tell me more about Freya’s friends. What can you remember about them?”

Arthur only questions him for half an hour this time, taking notes and nodding. He’s gentler, as well. Whether because he thinks it’ll get him more, because he’s in a kinder mood or because he’s softening a little, Merlin tries not to dwell on. He carefully puts the idea of Arthur softening out of his mind.

He goes to his volunteer job Monday evening, and sees his GP Tuesday morning, and even manages the half day he works at the shop on Wednesady. He gets home at five thirty and looks around for Arthur, but he’s not there. Of course he’s not there, he’s with Cenred. Cenred always works later in the evening. He doesn’t do mornings. Merlin makes himself pasta and waits. It’s almost nine when Arthur slips in, eyes shadowed with some of the dark that was there when Merlin first met him. This time the shadows don’t leap out and make Merlin scream like he’s on fire. This time he doesn’t call Arthur the devil.

“Hi,” Merlin says.

“I always forget how much this absolutely sucks,” Arthur says, throwing himself into his carefully positioned chair, “do you have any coffee? Or food?”

“Fair question. I have pasta? And a little bit of chocolate.”

“I’ll take the pasta, if I may.”

Merlin makes it in silence, hyper aware of Arthur’s presence. Arthur stays quiet and still, like he does when he’s tired. Merlin watches him, while the pasta cooks, charting the changes in him. He’s older for sure, and he’s bulked out. He’s still in shape and looks about as muscular as ever, but he’s definitely bigger. Not the almost-teenager he seemed when he pulled Merlin out, eyes sincere and kind and no longer the devil.

“I’m in,” Arthur says, when he’s eaten, “I have some business in town tomorrow. I’m going to catch a glimpse of Freya, which will be why I go back next week. My boss, by the way, is not happy that he has to keep me out of the public for a few days. I’m supposed to be working a case in the suburbs.”

“Sor- right.”

“Cenred asked me about you, how you were doing. I told him I didn’t know. Then I smiled. So, he knows you’re doing well. I over heard him telling someone to check you out, so don’t be worried if you noticed someone tomorrow. I know you wanted to stay out of this, but I can’t do it like that. Don’t go near him, don’t talk to anyone who you don’t know, and don’t under any circumstances go anywhere with anyone you don’t know.”

“Can you do it in a week?”

“I don’t know. I’ll stay until I get her. I’ll get confirmation to you tomorrow, just to say it's going ahead, but it’ll be late. Just carry on living, and I’ll come as him next week. I apologise in advance. Do you remember him?”

“I remember him. He’s not kind, I know.”

“He’s cruel. You think I’m mean to you? He’ll dig into you and bite you. I don’t know who will be watching, so I’ll have to play it as him. I’m sorry, but I’m going to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“Call your sponsor, when I leave tonight. Tell him what’s going on.”

“I already have. He wants to be here, when you come.”

“Right. That’s fine. Um… I don’t know who he is or what he’s like, so you two will have to do the story there. He can be your sponsor, you know, or just a friend. Keep it simple, as truthful as you can. I don’t know when I’ll come, so he’ll just have to camp out... Okay, we’ll do this; I’ll come as him, tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll just watch the flat for a bit and then leave. But it’ll give you reason to call your sponsor.”

“If we go with that story, I’ll do it. Thanks.”

“Yeah. I’ve got to go. Shit, Merlin, I don’t know why I do these things for you. This time, it is goodbye. You know it all, right?”

“You love me, and you’ll never stop, no matter what. I have to remember, but I can move on, and Arthur? Thank you. You know it, too?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t need to, either. Be good to yourself, I’m going to miss you turning up out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of me, my friend.”

Merlin laughs, strangled, and Arthur gets up. To Merlin’s surprise he stop, very close, and then they’re kissing. Unplanned, unasked for, searing kisses that make them moan into each other’s mouths. Familiar. Wonderful. And then they cling to one another, panting, and then Arthur’s gone.

Gwaine turns up on Monday morning, and doesn’t leave. He walks Merlin to his therapist session and walks him home, then walks him to volunteer. Arthur doesn’t show up- they eat Chinese take-out and mock Doctor who.

Gwaine’s still there on Tuesday, and he walks Merlin to work. He’s there when Merlin gets off, just waiting, leaning on the car.

“Thank you, for doing this,” Merlin says.

“No problem. I absolutely can get behind anything that gives me a valid excuse to take a few days off. What are we getting for dinner tonight?”

“Um, well. He’ll probably show up, tonight. I wasn’t expecting him yesterday, but he’ll probably be… tonight, or tomorrow. He likes to cook.”

“Are you supposed to be anticipating his visit?”

“I saw him, hanging around. Last week. I got the message, too, telling me it was on and so on.”

“Right. Okay, we’ll wait around for prince charming.”

“You have no idea who ironic that is,” Merlin says, getting into the car.

He’s nervous. He remembers, from before, what Arthur’s like in this character, how frightened he was of him. He remembers how frightened everyone was of him. Even Cenred did no more than was absolutely necessary to assert him dominance. So Merlin’s nervous, and he paces, and Gwaine gets frustrated and watches football, periodically yelling at Merlin to settle down and stop making him nervous, too. They’re both a bit on edge when the knock comes.

“Okay, okay. Stay put, Gwaine,” Merlin says, and goes to get the door.

He’s leaning there, casual, t-shirt stretched over muscle, hair shorn off to reveal the tattoo on his scalp. The dragon on his biceps is showing, too, nosing out of his shirt. His jeans are designer, but there’s engine grease on the thigh, and his boots look almost as old as he is.

“Hello, little bird,” he says, straightening lazily and running a finger over Merlin’s cheek bones, “I could cut myself on these, lovely boy. Are you glad I’ve come back?”

Merlin doesn’t know how to react. In all the excitement he’d forgotten to ask Arthur his part. Is he supposed to be glad? Is he supposed to get behind the idea of them being lovers? What’s the script? But then, Arthur told him not to play a part. To just go with it.

“I don’t know that I am, actually,” Merlin says, truthfully.

“Oh no? But I saved you. I’m the saviour of your soul, the son of God, the prince of heaven. I’m your Jesus Christ,” he says, moving closer, closer, closer, thumb landing on Merlin’s cheek again, pressing.

“I don’t… I don’t… thank you, for that. For saving me. I’ve… I moved on. I got better. I’m healed, now.”

“So you don’t need me? You’re a junkie, little bird. Nothing but a junkie. That won’t change just because you got yourself a nice little house and a boyfriend and a sponsor. You’re still gutter trash, still a user. A sniff of it, and you’re gone. You think you’re strong? Let me show you. Let me make you weak. Come on, little bird. Submit to your prince.”

“Please, please. I won’t… I wasn’t…” Merlin’s thrown by it, but he manages to keep Arthur separate from it and it’s not like what he’s saying is truly getting to Merlin, so the fear is minimal.

“Let me in, little bird,” he says, thumb moving down Merlin’s neck, over his jugular, precise to the millimetre if Merlin knows Arthur, which he does, down over his shoulder to rest at his elbow, pressing again.

“No,” Merlin says, instinctively.

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, then. What a shame. I thought I’d come, have a bit of you for old times’ sake, call in a debt. But you said no. I’ll just go, shall I? Back to my car, and drive away,” he turns, then pauses, “Oh, by the way, little bird, I saw your sister. She’s a very good dancer, you know. She’s not on your stuff yet, just a few pills, just a bit of dancing. Won’t be long, though. Needles and dancing, and dancing. Shall I help her along, little bird?”

“Freya,” Merlin says, wondering what Arthur’s playing at.

“Ah, yes. That was her name. Shall we go inside, now? To keep her in pills and frilly knickers, instead of out of them?”

“No,” Merlin says, catching a tiny head shake from Arthur. Not from Him, from Arthur.

“So stubborn. I always liked that about you, boy. And so… pouty,” on the last word he moves, thudding Merlin against the door frame and leaning closer. Merlin’s just on edge enough to fight, and fight hard. He gets an elbow into Arthur’s face and hears a crack, so he backs off, panting, waiting, ready.

“You little shit! I want it, and you’re going to give it to me. I have an offer. You give it up, you give up your façade of respectability, and I’ll give you her.”

“Give it… give what?”

“Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Merlin waits, but he’s done. There are no more words, he goes back to lounging, waiting. Merlin opens the door wider and lets him in.

“Good boy,” he says.

Merlin shuts and locks the door after him, and goes to draw the curtains, but Arthur holds up his hand and Merlin stops. Arthur indicates Gwaine.

“Oh, right. This is Gwaine, an old friend.”

“Your sponsor is here? Oh, little bird. How thoughtful you are. Did you catch me, last week? At your window? Clever thing.”

“And who are you?” Gwaine asks, face hard.

“Gwaine, this is Prince,” Merlin says.

Gwaine’s face breaks into a wide grin, and Arthur glares and shakes his head, moving to stand in front of the window.

“What a stupid name,” Gwaine says.

“Gwaine,” Merlin admonishes.

“It’s not my name, Gherkin, it’s my title. I am the prince.”

“Of where?”

“Of everywhere, you little shit. Now, I’m going to do my little bird, want to watch?”

“I’m not going.”

“Then watch.”

Prince lets out a ‘whoop’ and tears off his t-shirt, throwing open the window and tossing it out. His jeans and boots follow as he laughs, wildly, crazy with it. Then he slams the window and twirls, tearing the curtains across.

“Wow, you’re truly batshit insane,” Gwaine says.

“I was bugged, you idiot. Is this idiot your sponsor, Merlin? You can do better.”

“Is this Arthur fucking Pendragon, or Prince?” Gwaine says, “I can’t tell the difference.”

Merlin winces as Arthur pushes Gwaine into the wall.

“Doesn’t work like a light switch, Gwaine,” Merlin says.

“I’m both,” Arthur growls, in Gwaine’s face, all controlled violence, “Always.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Gwaine spits back.

“Oh good, so much testosterone,” Merlin contributes, heart beating wildly.

“You’re afraid, Gwaine. If you’re not, you truly are stupid. This isn’t a game, it’s not an act, it’s not a play. I’m not Othello, I’m Prince. And Prince should frighten the shit right out of you, because he doesn’t care about Merlin, except for the sex part. He wants sex with Merlin, with his little bird, so badly. And you seem to be standing between him and what he wants.”

“What, he’ll kill me?”

“No, he’ll get warmed up,” Arthur says, pushing against Gwaine’s neck, hips shoving, free hand roving, “are you afraid now, little boy?”

Gwaine opens his mouth, but Merlin steps forward and he stops, watching.

“It’s not a switch, Gwaine. Arthur controls it, until he doesn’t anymore. Don’t push him.”

“Really great asset you are,” Gwaine says, shoving Arthur away, “you’re like a time bomb!”

Arthur lets Gwaine go and stalks to the kitchen area, crashing pans around and whistling cheerfully. Gwaine sits on the sofa and glares at Arthur. Merlin sits beside him.

“This is the guy who’s helping? This is Arthur?” Gwaine asks.

“No, this is Prince. And he’s not helping me, he’s helping himself. I told you, Arthur was in really deep. He doesn’t play Prince, he lives as him. He’s not going to hurt us, he’s off duty, he’s off, right now. But he’s not safe, and he’s not Arthur. Arthur doesn’t push my friends into the wall and he doesn’t call me a dirty junkie.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I may have been a little bit afraid.”

Merlin laughs at that, because while he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Prince will do everything in his power not to hurt the people Arthur wants him not to hurt (which is everyone, because Arthur’s a bit of a white knight), Prince is still one of the people who frightens him most.

He and Gwaine watch Prince cook, and talk quietly, Merlin correcting Gwaine whenever he calls Prince 'Arthur'. About an hour after he arrives, Prince comes over and gives them each a plate, then goes to open the curtains, standing over them with his hands on his hips, watching. His muscular chest and stomach are so familiar to Merlin. The small birthmark by his nipple, the mole on his side, the tattoo in the small of his back that curls over his hip.

“Wow, this is good. Merlin said you liked to cook, Prince, but he never said you were good,” Gwaine says, sounding more cheerful now there’s food in front of him.

Merlin learnt quickly that the way to Gwaine’s heart, and head, and everything really, was through food.

“Of course I can. Why would I do something I’m not good at? Then again, I’m good at everything.”

“Now, that, Gwaine, is Arthur,” Merlin says, and the other two both start laughing.

When dinner’s done, Arthur’s eyes have lightened a little. He shuts the curtains again and sits next to Gwaine, fidgeting, while Merlin and Gwaine debate over which film to shove on for Gwaine’s imaginary sexile.

“I can’t believe you opted for watching me do kinky stuff with Merlin.”

Gwaine turns, uncertain, mouth open ready to speak but with no words.

“That’s Arthur,” Merlin says, rooting through a box of DVDs, looking for something that he hasn’t seen a thousand times and isn’t crap.

“How do you know which is which? They still seem similar to me,” Gwaine says.

“I’m only one person, you know. I’m both of me. And Merlin doesn’t know shit, he’s being a clever clogs to make you laugh and to put you at your ease so you can sleep without the fear that I’ll murder you in your bed.”

“Um…” Gwaine says.

“That’s Prince,” Merlin supplies, “and he’ll now try to convince you that, instead of banging his ‘little bird’ he’s instead going to follow you out, in nothing but his boxers, trail after you to your flat and murder you with your pillow.”

“I was not. I didn’t say anything about tonight, did I?”

“Wow, yeah, I’m never going to sleep peacefully again,” Gwaine says.

“Don’t let him get to you. Arthur, you should have had a talk with Gwaine and warned him that you were going to hurt him, too.”

“I’m not hurting him,” Prince grumbles, pulling out his clasp knife from god knew where and peeling an apple while staring intensely at Gwaine, “I’m frightening him.”

“That’s harmful. Alright! The Little Mermaid, the Lion King, or Lock Stock and two Smoking Barrels?”

“The Little Mermaid,” Prince says.

“Seriously?” Gwaine asks.

“That’s Prince,” Merlin warns.

“Right, yes, murderer gets to pick the film. Go ahead,” Gwaine says.

“I’m not a murder,” Prince says.

Gwaine pauses, and Merlin winces.

“It’s business, not pleasure. Murder is for pleasure,” Prince says, slicing off a piece of apple and taking it off the sharp knife, licking the juice that runs down to the handle, revealing the scar that splits his tongue a little at the end.

As far as Prince and all his associates are concerned, and Gwaine by the paleness of his face, that scar is from something deeply disturbing and frightening, and possibly a cross over of business and pleasure. Merlin knows that it’s from when Morgana talked Arthur into being a ‘real pirate’ when they were kids, and making him walk the plank with a sharp knife between his teeth. Or in other words, pushed him down the stairs when he had a knife in his mouth.

“My sister is a hundred times worse than I am,” Arthur says, catching Merlin’s eye and grinning.

Gwaine moves a bit further from Arthur. Merlin sits between them, passing Prince the remote, and waits. He isn’t disappointed- Prince cries. As he always does. Gwaine watches open mouthed.

“He’s a big softie, really,” Arthur says, when the film’s over.

“Who is?” Gwaine asks.

“Prince.”

“No he isn’t,” Merlin says, “he’s a murderer and I don’t like having him in my house.”

“Gwaine can stay. I’m sure kinky threesomes are perfectly legit, especially with-“

Arthur suddenly goes soft, lines of his face breaking to tiredness and sadness, leaning forward and rubbing his face.

“You should go home, Mr. Gwaine,” he says.

“This is Arthur,” Merlin says, smiling, reaching out to rub his back.

“Yes, it’s me, and you should go before I say something inexcusable,” Arthur says, looking up at Gwaine, “I’ll keep Merlin safe. I promise.”

“Do you seriously not know who I am?” Gwaine asks, then shakes his head, “Merlin’s right- you live under a rock. I still can’t see how he keeps you straight, it’s like having someone with a split personality in the room.”

“I’m two people. I do have a split personality. I can’t always control him, when I’m changing between,” Arthur says, “he’s gone for now, though, so you should leave. Go get some sleep.”

“Are you coming back here?” Gwaine asks.

“Yes. As often as I can. Prince paid a high price for his whore, he’s going to get his money’s worth. You can come back if you like, but he won’t hurt Merlin. Not now Merlin is his. He wants ownership far more than he needs submission, and he owns Merlin body and soul. He’s saving the thing most precious to him.”

“You don’t need to come back, Gwaine, but will you come on Saturday?”

“Yes. Of course. And call me, if you need. Any hour, any day. Don’t let him hurt you,” Gwaine says the last looking right into Merlin’s eyes, and Merlin knows he means Arthur, too, not just Prince.

“I won’t,” Merlin says, wondering if he can keep that promise.

“Goodbye, then. It’s been… interesting. Night, Prince.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Gwaine. Don’t sleep too deeply, will you?” Arthur asks, flicking open his clasp knife.

He’s not Prince, though, and his grin is far more friendly, his body language far less threatening, his eyes less flinty. So Gwaine just laughs it off and strides out, tossing his jacket on and walking into the night.

“He’s a good lad,” Arthur says, shutting and re-locking the door before coming back over to sit on the sofa.

“He’s better than good, he’s brilliant,” Merlin says, “did you have to let Prince loose on him? And pretend you didn’t know who he was?”

“He’s your sponsor. The longer I pretend, the less likely it is Prince will see it as something to exploit. It would be very easy to exploit this.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, for earlier. They followed me, bugged me, and watched me.”

“Now they just get to listen to the crickets and Maguires fighting, thanks to Prince’s eccentricities.”

“You know, the funny thing is, Prince has done that before. The whole tossing his clothes out of the window thing. I don’t know what that says about him.”

“It says more about you,” Merlin says, gently, “you made him as far from yourself as you could within the parameters you were given. You didn’t want to get confused with him.”

Arthur looks surprised, or upset, or just tired. Merlin’s losing his ability to read Arthur easily, as Arthur gets his head and more and more back to himself and pulls up his guards. Prince’s are good, but they’re fabricated, not real, and Arthur knows they’re there so he can dismantle them when he wants. His own are far stronger, and far more subconscious, and far harder to get through.

“It’s funny, I can read the psychopath better than I can read you,” Merlin says, absently.

“That’s a cheerful thought. Full of optimism, you are.”

“I am, actually. It seems like you have a solid plan for getting Freya back.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“That you’d get her back? No. That you weren’t going to go gung-ho and just blow the place up? Yes.”

“I’m far too professional for that. Besides, I have to rescue her as Prince, not as me. The FBI will never forgive me if I don’t at least try to protect their investment. They put a lot of work into Prince.”

“Do they know you’re doing this?”

“Technically, no. My partner knows. Yeah, they assigned me a rookie and she did good, so I kept her. And our immediate superior knows some of it. He doesn’t know about you, just Freya.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“We made a deal,” Arthur says, and Merlin feels his heart clench thinking about it, “and I have a debt to repay, to an old friend.”

“Who?”

“You. You were my partner, my boyfriend, for eight years, you are my… well, something soppy- soulmate, true love, whatever you want to call it. And I gave up on you. So, I have to make it up. I think this will make us just about even.”

“So then you can call it a day and wash your hands of me.”

“I’ll never be rid of you, little bird. You got right under my skin and then right into my heart. I don’t love easily or fast, but you got me the first time I saw you. I can never get rid of you, can never wash my hands of you. I’m like Lady Macbeth- out, damned spot, and all that.”

“In this scenario, I’m the blood of the man you murdered?”

“Well, it was probably Prince who did the actual killing, but yes.”

“Wow, you really do have a split personality.”

“You’re not him,” Arthur says, suddenly.

“I know, and I’m sorry, and-“

“You’re not him, but you’re not… you’re not you, either. You’ve done good, too, Merlin. You’re turning out just fine.”

Merlin looks at the floor, unable to respond to that. It’s kind of huge and important and not nothing, not to him, not when Arthur usually looks at him as if he’s killed someone precious, as if he’s the murderer, as if he’s worthless. Later, Merlin lying in bed Arthur on the floor in a sleeping bag, just as Merlin’s about to drift off Arthur starts to talk. Soft and uncertain.

“I wished for a long time that you’d come back. Not him, not the man I loved, you. You were gone for two years, and every day, every day I waited for you to walk through the door. I now that I gave you no reason to stay, and every reason to go, but for a while you were always in and out. And then there was about a year when it wasn’t frequent, but it was a lot. I wanted you to come so badly, Merlin. You have no idea, what it’s like, waiting, waiting, every day, wondering what you’d be like this time. But you never came.”

Arthur stops, and Merlin thinks it’s over, but it’s not.

“And then, you showed up, begging for help, and all I could do was want him. I loved him, so much, so… so very much. I didn’t lie, that night; I do want you to stop coming. But not because you kept bringing his body around, but because I can’t stand waiting any more. Because I don’t want you to turn up and have to face my anger, because you can never be him again. It’s not what you’ve done to me, Merlin, it’s what I’m always going to do to you, because I’m just not a good enough person to be there for you the way…”

Arthur trails off, and Merlin again thinks it’s over. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear it, but he’s pretty sure Arthur doesn’t want him to respond, and he wants so badly to get down on the floor and crawl in with him, to comfort him, somehow.

“I’m not the man he loved, either. That Arthur? The one who drove around and picked him up and set him straight again, who helped him come down when he needed it? That Arthur lived for the moments between. He believed in Leonard Cohen, and Gerard Manly Hpokins, and knew exactly what it meant that the cracks were where the light gets in, and that the buckle was a million times lovelier. He was my Chevalier. Prince called himself your Jesus Christ, earlier, but it was always him saving me. He showed me the beauty in the world, and without him, I can’t find it. I can’t find either one of us anymore, not the versions where we were happy just to be, to exist, if we were together. What happened to that? What happened to us? Where did all that beauty go?”

Merlin waits, but this time it really is over. He doesn’t speak, and before long Arthur’s breaths even out into sleep. It takes Merlin much longer to follow.

The next day Prince turns up again, and Arthur seems to have trouble becoming himself again. It’s much more Prince and much less him, which makes for a tiring evening. Prince keeps his clothes for much longer, giving their listeners a really good show, and this time he just throws a boot out of the window, missing Merlin by inches and not caring if he shatters the glass. Luckily the boot goes through the open part and nothing gets broken. By the time they go to bed, Arthur’s mostly back, but he still climbs into Merlin’s bed when he’s done his teeth, claiming Merlin’s mouth, growling, hand possessive on his hip.

“You belong to me, little bird. You’re mine. Remember that.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, not wanting it, not wanting Prince and really not wanting him in the bed.

“Shit. Shit! He’s not supposed to fucking do that!” Arthur says, and the second boot sails the way of the first, hitting the wall with a thud.

“That’s definitely going to help. Why don’t you throw my shoes around, too?” Merlin snipes, but gently.

He holds Arthur’s biceps until Arthur gets off the bed, and waits for Arthur to be done pacing back and forth and finally Arthur lies down, huffing and growling before eventually settling a bit more.

“I don’t know where the beauty went,” Merlin says, when Arthur’s breathing starts to get tense again, trying to derail a return of Prince.

Arthur goes all quiet and still, like he’s listening very carefully, so Merlin lowers his voice a bit more, making Arthur stay that way.

“I’d have come, a thousand times, if I’d known you were waiting. And I’d have come more than that, if I’d known I’d taken so much with me. You used to go on and on about the blasted song. Never shut up about it. You seemed to think there was some deep, wondrous thing in it and played it over and over again, stupid grin on your face, and then you’d flick over to Dance me to the Edge of Love and make me dance, saying I had to fulfil the lyrics. Then you said that I had, that I always did.”

Merlin pauses, and Arthur tenses a little but he’s much more relaxed, now.

“I didn’t know that you still felt that. Still felt that I was always there, dancing you. I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have broken us. I did that. I thought it was too much, that it had gone too far, that I had fallen too low and I was so sure I could never get out, so I broke us, because I thought I didn’t do it anymore, that I didn’t fulfil your stupid lyrics. You never told me about the Hopkins. Thought, you know, I’m a Merlin. Not a Kestrel, not a Windhover. And you’re definitely no where near celibate, which Hopkins was. And I know, the narrator shouldn’t be confused with the poet, shut up.”

Arthur stifles a laugh. Merlin grins.

“I still hear you in my head, telling me off, telling me I do everything wrong and how can I be such a plonker. I still hear you telling me things and making me learn and cook and all sorts of horrific things. I know that you think of me and him as different people, that I encouraged that, that I believe it too, but technically we’re the same person- what you told him, you told me. You made him feel worthy and good and I can still feel those things, because of that. I lied to you when I told you I tried to get him back. Well, no, I did, but it was more an attempt to… I never looked for him, I always just looked for you.”

Arthur falls asleep after that, snoring slightly the way he does when he’s not lying comfortably. The way he does when he’s restless and tired and falls asleep without... Merlin stops himself, stops himself from analysing Arthur. Arthur said goodbye, this is not Arthur. Not entirely.

Prince comes back on Thursday, tossing both boots immediately out of the window, and then collapses on the sofa, feet on the pile of books Merlin was tidying earlier, head back.

“Get me a beer, little bird.”

Merlin draws the curtains and goes to make coffee, ignoring Prince’s complaints and litany of small criminal acts he’s done today, waiting for Arthur to come through.

“This is coffee. I said beer,” Prince snaps, when Merlin gives it him.

“I don’t have beer.”

Prince throws the cup of coffee at the wall, making a dent next to the one his boot made yesterday. Merlin sighs.

“Sorry,” Prince says, sitting forwards.

Merlin’s about to answer, to try to soothe, but then Prince reaches out and somehow manages to get Merlin in his lap. Merlin’s about to shove and fight, but then Prince wraps his arms around him and burries his face in Merlin’s stomach.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-“

“Hey, hey. Prince, what happened?”

“I can’t, I didn’t.. I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. My Prince. My little prince, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

Merlin smoothes Prince’s hair, gets a thumb against the crease in his forehead, nudges him away gently, feels over the lines of his face, watches his face drop, watches the fear and sadness take over, and that’s when Arthur comes back, pain tightening his face.

“Hello, Arthur,” Merlin says.

“Oh God. Oh God!” Arthur says, and he sounds awful.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s never okay. He’s never… he’s never been okay,” Arthur says, tears clogging his voice, pressing his face to Merlin’s stomach again, “please, please, just for five minutes, just… please.”

“Shh, I’ve got you. I have you, I have you both.”

Arthur’s body trembles, but he still doesn’t cry any way except his own, tears stifled. He stays where he is for a long time, for a very long time. Merlin doesn’t ask what happened, doesn’t ask what he’s done, doesn’t ask about Freya. He doesn’t know what’s hurt Prince, so he doesn’t know what not to ask, so he doesn’t ask a thing. He just holds on, just holds him, pretending, just for the moment, that he’s Arthur’s again.

Later, he takes Arthur to bed and holds him in his arms again, shushing him, trying to make him relax enough to fall asleep. Arthur doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything, lets Merlin put him to bed and leaves Merlin to get him out of Prince’s jeans. Arthur lies, supine, limp, and Merlin holds him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, much later, when Arthur’s still shivering.

“I don’t know. I don’t… Cenred wanted information, and Prince… and I took it. They were all there.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Freya was there.”

Merlin freezes.

“I’m sorry, even Prince was sorry.”

Merlin waits. There’s more.

“I didn’t kill her. Prince couldn’t kill her. She was only f-fourteen.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“You asked me to get Freya out. This is how. I can’t rescue them all, I can’t save the world. I don’t let Prince go too far, but I have to let him go far enough to be convincing. This is how I get her out. I can’t do this again, Merlin. Talk your Mum out of following the family footsteps, yeah?”

It’s a weak joke, especially with the way Arthur’s trembling, but Merlin laughs anyway. He has no doubt that Arthur’s being truthful, that Freya is his only objective and nothing else can be done. But he also has no doubt that Arthur’s got those faces memorised, and that he’ll work through all his breaks and days off to find the lost souls in his databases and inform the families and authorities where they are. It won’t work- no one can take down Cenred, not yet- but some of them might find a way to get their loved ones out. Some of the cases might have been caught by good cops, who might just find a way.

“You’re my prince, Arthur. You are. No matter what you do, I’ll love you. Always. Don’t you remember?”

“You never hurt anyone.”

“I hurt everyone. I hurt everyone. I know that there’s no way to justify what Prince does, but I still love you, and you’re still my prince. Screw the rest of their world. Judgemental bastards.”

Arthur laughs and then sighs, body heavy against Merlin’s. He’s still trembling finely when he falls asleep, finally, at about three am.

Friday night he doesn’t come.

Saturday Prince comes in looking tired and tells his boot to go fuck themselves before tossing them out of the window. He isn’t shaking, though, and he isn’t aggressive, and Arthur finds his way to the surface without a fight. They sit side by side on the sofa, eating some fancy pasta dish and bickering over who gets the remote.

“Gwaine’s right- you can cook.”

“Did you see him, today? Did you go?”

“Yes. I always go.”

“Sorry. Christ, Merlin. I never knew you… you’re a fucking stubborn man.”

“I am. I am?”

“You might not be him, but you’re not… not entirely not him. I don’t know. You’re still…”

“I’m still…?”

“Wonderful.”

“Are you going to renege on our deal?” Merlin asks, though he has no hope.

“No. I can’t do it, I have no strength. I don’t.. I just can’t. Not again.”

“I know. I was joking.”

“I’m so close, Merlin. So close.”

Merlin is glad, that Freya’s going to be safe, but he’s not glad that it’s going to be over. Arthur sleeps in his bed again, pressed close, and when he says goodbye in the morning it’s with a kind of finality.

Merlin gets the phone call at six pm.

“Hi, Mum,” he says, smiling.

-I don’t know what you did, but Arthur just dropped Freya off. He says she has to go to the hospital, but she’s going to be okay. He wasn’t really much like Arthur. Did you break him, too?-

“Him too?”

-Yourself, Merlin. I’m not blaming you.-

“No, I didn’t break him. Or I did, but not like that. That was Prince.”

-The man who saved you?-

“Yes.”

-That was Arthur?-

“Yes.”

-You never said!-

“I wasn’t supposed to know.”

-Oh. He says that I should tell you that you have to come here for dinner, when Freya gets home again. That you have to sit with her and tell her a story. He said you’d know what he meant-

Merlin feels warmth spread a little, dampening the sadness at Arthur’s leaving.

“He means he trusts me with Freya, Mum.”

-It’s not his place not to!-

“Of course it is. It’s not like you were going to ban me from seeing her, even if it was for the best, so he did.”

-Stupid idiot.-

“Well, he took it back, didn’t he? It doesn’t matter.”

Of course it does matter, to Merlin, very much so. Arthur trusts him. Actually, really, trusts him. It’s something, anyway.

He doesn’t see Arthur again, but once Freya’s on the mend she never shuts up about him, teasing Merlin, jeering at him, trying to persuade him to see Arthur again. It gets on his last nerve, until one day, almost a month later, he snaps. They’re sat in the living room at their Mum’s house together, waiting for her to get back with the shopping so they can have popcorn and watch something crap.

“So, Merlin, when are you seeing-“

“If you says Arthur, or Prince, or Pendragon, I will seriously strangle you! Leave it!”

“But you still like him!”

“I said leave it!”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I won’t. Talk to him.”

“Fuck fucking off!”

“Talk to hi-“

“He doesn’t want to see me!” Merlin finally yells.

Freya stares at him, wide eyed with shock. Merlin sighs and, realising he’s got to his feet at some point, sits again.

“I’m sorry, Frey. I know he was important to you, too, and I’m sorry I broke it, but he doesn’t want to see me. I respect that.”

“Merlin…”

“No, it’s not his fault, and it’s not a sad thing. It’s just one of those things, you know? It’s one of the things I broke and I can’t put this one right. I’m sorry I yelled and frightened you.”

“You couldn’t scare a squirrel.”

“Are squirrels easy to scare?”

“Notoriously so. I wasn’t scared, I was surprised. You actually think that?”

“Well, yes. He said it.”

“But, hello! This is Arthur? You know, tall bloke, blonde hair, absolute prat and totally ignorant of emotions?”

“That rings a bell.”

“Stop being sarcastic. He saved me for you, didn’t he?”

“In return for which I am never to darken his doorway again.”

“That’s nice that you agreed to that an all, and aw, cute, you believed it.”

“It’s real! I hurt him!”

“Merlin, all Prince talked about was you. All Arthur talked about was you. Ever. I think you don’t go back because you’re scared of being hurt.”

“I’m not! Of course I’m not!”

“What reason did he give for not wanting to see you?”

“He said it hurt. He didn’t want to be hurt by me again.”

“You’re not refusing to go back because you’re afraid he’ll hurt you?”

“No!”

“He did hurt you, you know. He did.”

“No, he… yes. Fine.”

“And you hurt him. But you’re not refusing to go back because he hurts you.”

“No! For heaven’s sake, why would that stop me? Life hurts, every day hurts, Arthur doesn’t. Not on purpose. Not through choice. I would… fear of that wouldn’t stop me. I’m scared of hurting him, Frey.”

“And yet, you think he’s so shallow as to refuse to see you because he’s so scared of you hurting him. You think he’d act as you say you never would? That he'd give you up out of fear?”

“No- yes. I mean… what do I mean?”

“He’s afraid of hurting you, Merlin. See, when you hurt him? You were high, or crashing, or needing, or wanting, or detoxing. You were forced into addiction, and you fought your way out of it, and now you understand that you did those things, and that you have to take responsibility, but we all forgive you and you’re even beginning to forgive yourself, because it was the addiction. Am I right?”

“Yes. I never meant to hurt him. Or you. I’d never chose that.”

“But Arthur chose it. He wasn’t addicted to anything, and yes, he dealt with you when you were bad and cruel and at your worst, but he hurt you when you were sober and yourself. He wasn’t an addict. He wasn’t high, or crashing, or needing, or wanting, or detoxing. He can’t blame an addiction, he can only blame himself.”

“When… when did you get so wise?”

“I didn’t. He told me this. He was sitting with me one morning, waiting to see Cenred with me, and he just started talking. So I kept notes, so I could pass it on to you. But, yeah, I’m amazing and wise anyway. Just so you know.”

“You are amazing. Not so much wise. You still have a ways to go.”

“Fuck off and go get your girl, superman.”

“I don’t think Arthur would ever agree to be Lois.”

“Prince might.”

They grin at one another, then Merlin gets up and ruffles her hair, heading out.

It’s raining, so he pulls his hoody over his head and leans in a doorway, waiting for Arthur to get home. He doesn’t have to wait long- a big black car with blacked out windows pulls up and Arthur gets out, suited once more and no longer looking like a dirty gutter rat. His hair hasn’t grown yet, and there’s still the shadow of the tattoo there, invisible in the darkness but Merlin knows.

He’s about to step out of the shadows when the driver’s door opens and a woman steps out. She’s young and very beautiful, and she skips into a jog, bouncing up to Arthur and linking their arms. Merlin can hear her laughing. There’s a moment of irrational jealousy and anger and misery, but then he remembers Arthur talking about getting a partner. He runs across the road.

“Arthur!”

Arthur turns, and so does the young woman, and both smile at Merlin. Arthur’s smile is quickly replaced by a weary kind of resignation.

“Merlin. What are you doing here? I thought we had a deal,” Arthur says.

“Oh my god. You’re Merlin?” the woman says, then starts laughing again.

“Um, yeah?” Merlin says.

“Sorry, it’s just… oh Pen, you are an absolute… ha! I never could work out why you- this really does explain a lot,” she says, beaming up at Arthur and squeezing his arm.

“Shut up. Terry was not… Shut up,” Arthur says, blushing.

“Sorry. Merlin, I’m Mithian, Arthur’s partner. He occasionally mentions you.”

The last seems to be some kind of joke or tease because Arthur gets a bit redder. Merlin frowns at them, looking between them, feeling another stab of jealousy at their easy back and forth and obvious inside knowledge of one another.

“Mithian, shut the hell up. Do you want to come in, Merlin? We were going to get a pizza and go over a case, but please do give us an excuse not to, I’m about ready to strangle Mithian over this.”

“Pen, it’s not me, it’s you. That car was a complete match! He’s the one, I’m telling you.”

“We can’t arrest someone because their car is one of hundreds of the same make and model. You know that.”

“Yes, but he still did it.”

“You don’t know that, don’t leap to conclusions. Please, please, Merlin; save me from the enthusiasm and misplaced-“

“I am not a bloody rookie any more!”

“-misplaced confidence of the young.”

“Pen, you’re hardly old.”

“I’m thirty four. That’s almost middle aged. Merlin, please, she’s driving me nuts.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this,” Merlin says, “but I wouldn’t say no to pizza.”

“Great! You can tell me how Freya’s doing.”

“I thought you’d called her? She said you called,” Merlin says, as Arthur unlocks the door and the three of them troop up.

“I love your place,” Mithian says when they’re inside, throwing herself on the sofa and sighing happily, “is there any coffee?”

“If you make it,” Arthur grumbles, hanging up his jacket and going to lock up his piece.

“Mith?”

“What?”

“Gun.”

Mithian tosses it over and Arthur locks up his safe, unbuckling the holster. Merlin watches, remembering doing that himself, the feel of the buckle under his fingers, the weight of it, the weight of Arthur’s gun.

“Right. Coffee,” Mithian says, heaving herself off the sofa and pretending to stagger to the kitchen.

Arthur’s obviously used to such antics because he completely ignores it, except to remind Mithian that he doesn’t want milk.

“Oh, and make Merlin a cup of tea. Tea’s more… his cup of tea,” Arthur says, sitting in the arm chair and popping open his brief case.

Merlin sits on the edge of the sofa, feeling out of place as Arthur unpacks a stack of files and pulls out a picture, leaving it on top. But Arthur doesn’t start to work or talk about the case, he rummages around in the bottom of his case and finally comes up with an ipod.

“Victory,” he mutters, getting up to pop it into a speakers dock and pressing play.

The room fills with quiet music, and Merlin recognises the song, smiling.

“You are my king,” Merlin says, grinning at Arthur.

Arthur freezes, then laughs.

“Yeah, well. Lion hearted you are not,” Arthur says, sitting down again and throwing a pillow at Merlin’s head before passing over the photo.

It’s a Honda Accord. Even Merlin, who knows nothing about cars, knows this. He also knows that every Tom, Dick and Harry has this car. He passes it back, smiling.

“She’s right, though,” Arthur says, softly, “it probably is him. Don’t tell her!”

Merlin laughs and shakes his head, pretending to zip his lips.

“Beverages!” Mithian announces, passing the mugs around.

She stands, watching Arthur, the anticipation on her face making Merlin suspicious. He takes a tentative sip of his tea, but it’s fine. Arthur takes a gulp of coffee, then makes a face.

“Mith, do I have any sugar left?”

“Nope.”

Arthur gets up and tips his coffee down the sink, ignoring Mithian’s laughter, and goes to make himself a fresh cup. Mithian sits beside Merlin, tucking her legs under her. She’s dressed in an expensive suit and she looks like a grown up, but up close Merlin can see why Arthur calls her young. She really does look very young.

“He’s so easy,” Mithian says.

“I could tell you a few ways to get at him,” Merlin says, grinning.

“Oh? Really, now? We’ll have to meet up some time and compare play books.”

Arthur comes over, eyes narrowed suspiciously at them, but when Mithian looks away his face softens into a smile, eyes brightening. He meets Merlin’s eyes and sees the amusement there.

“I am not,” Arthur says, sitting down in his arm chair again.

“You’re not what?” Mithian asks.

“A complete sop and total push over,” Merlin says, “who’s going to call the pizza place? I was promised pizza.”

“I’ll do it!” Mithian volunteers enthusiastically.

“No way. You always order pineapple. I don’t like pineapple,” Arthur says.

“Pineapple and sweet corn do not belong on pizza, it’s sacrilege,” Merlin agrees, shaking his head sadly.

“Fine. Can I at least get peperoni?”

“No, Merlin’s a vegetarian,” Arthur says.

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur subdues him with a look, waiting for Mithian to get up and go to the kitchen to make the call.

“Why are we getting veggie pizza?” Merlin asks, leaning forward to put his tea down.

“We’re not. We’re making a pre-emptive strike to discourage Mith from ordering triple peperoni just to piss me off. No one likes that much pepperoni.”

“You two are awful,” Merlin says, laughing.

“It works for us. She’s so young and so green and enthusiastic and- they’re all good things, but I find it hard to stop her surging forwards sometimes, and sometimes I find it hard to… I hesitate to say control her, because that’s not what I mean. This way we can snipe at each other without actually causing arguments, and I can keep her on her toes and stop her from becoming bored and utilising her intellect for nefarious means. This way she uses it to come up with pranks, which is way better. Trust me, we don’t want Mith ruling the world.”

“Give it up. You’re just secretly a ten year old and love this kind of thing.”

“I hate when you do that, you know I hate when you do that.”

Merlin grins and is about to retaliate when Mithian comes back. He does know exactly just how much Arthur hates it when Merlin ignores his long, intricate, responsible explanations for things and makes it into a childish game. He’s very good at doing it, though, and Arthur really is secretly a ten year old.

“You two are very cute,” Mithian says, sitting on the sofa again.

“We are?” Merlin asks, at the same time as Arthur says ”we’re not.”

“You are, yes. Whenever Merlin leant forward for his tea, you leant forward too, Arthur. And you have this weird little smile. It’s seriously creepy, because you never smile like what. Only when you think Merlin’s not looking.”

“See what I mean, Merlin? She’s awful.”

“Right.”

World domination by Mithian is not a good thing, Merlin notes. He totally agrees, though he does like that Arthur has a creepy smile all for him. Mithian stays for about an hour, and talk does turn to their case sometimes, and eats a huge amount of pizza, getting a packet of cold sandwich meat from Arthur’s fridge to adorn her slices. She leaves, though, after the last slice is gone, slapping Arthur on the shoulder and bouncing out, then bouncing back for her gun and holster, which means she gets to hit Arthur again, and then she’s gone.

“I see why you kept her,” Merlin says, “she’s clever.”

“She thinks the right way,” Arthur concedes.

“She’s good for you, I reckon. Keeps you on your toes. Stops your brain from fermenting.”

“Nice, Merlin. Why are you here? You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I was talking to Freya, and she pointed out… I may have completely misread this, but I meant well, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry. Yet.”

“Great. Reassuring, that.”

“Get on with it.”

“Fine, fine. So we were talking and she asked why I wasn’t with you and went on and on about it being because I didn’t want to get hurt again and because I thought you’d hurt me and all on and on, and eventually I told her why it really was, and she was very scornful and.. well, see, I was so sure it wasn’t because I was afraid of being hurt, because I wouldn’t ever let that be a reason to… It’s because I’m afraid of hurting you. And she said maybe I should give you credit for not being an arse, and maybe feeling the same thing.”

Arthur’s silent. He gets up and goes to the window, looking out.

“I told her that you never hurt me, and that it’s because I keep bringing his body here, and because I’m not the man you loved any more, and all the reasons there are, but she’s very persuasive.”

“I remember. How is she?”

“Um, healthier. Better. She’s not having so many problems as I did, because she hasn’t been on stuff so long. She’s detoxed and now she just has to deal with the wanting, and the prostitution. She’s getting counselling and seeing a GP and all good things. I think she’ll be okay, if she can do something. Go back to get her a-levels, get a job, volunteer. Something.”

“She’s not like you, Merlin. She’s not so inwards looking, not so self destructive. She just fell in with the wrong crowd, while you were trying to slowly kill yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I never knew, each time when you went back, if it was because of the addiction or if it was because you’d fallen back into that darkness, if maybe I hadn’t made you happy enough.”

“You always made me happy.”

“I am afraid of being hurt. And I am afraid of hurting you. I’m afraid… I know that when I let you go and didn’t fight, that hurt. I didn’t fight because I didn’t know how to. I didn’t know if it would send you over the edge, if you needed space, if you were pushing me away because you needed me gone. I won’t do this again, Merlin. Not because I’m afraid, but because…”

“Because?”

“Maybe it is fear,” Arthur says softly, contemplatively, still staring out of the window as if he’s staring into the secrets of the universe, “maybe it is. I don’t know if I can make you happy, Merlin. Two weeks ago I was angry with you and fed up with you coming back, I didn’t want to ever have to go through getting over you again. But then I realised that I never did get over you. And then… you’re not him, but you’re a good man. And I’m not the same either. But… I want you to be happy, more than anything, and you’re doing well. You’ve got a job and friends and are really getting away from it all, and I don’t… you’re just fine without me, Merlin. You don’t need me.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But I want you.”

“I don’t… I’m not…”

“I’m not asking you to re-set, to go back to where we were when I left. I’m not even asking you to date me. I just want you in my life, want you to see me as I am now.”

“I can do that, I guess. I can maybe do that.”

“Good. So, now that we’re sorted, is it okay if I go for coffee with Mithian?”

“No way. No! It’ll be like you and Morgana all over again! You’ll gang up on me and exchange stories and-“ Arthur stops.

“I won’t drag her down with me. If I fall, I’ll let go.”

“Christ. Oh Merlin, I always blame you for everything, don’t I? Morgana wasn’t your fault, not really. I let her go, even though I knew you were using again. I also knew that she was on the edge of it, anyway. I thought maybe… maybe you’d… I don’t know. Bond, and save each other.”

“Well, we didn’t. We destroyed each other.”

“Yeah. She really is doing great. Gwen’s amazing at making sure she calls her sponsor when she needs it, and just keeping Morgana from despairing when it gets hard. Morgana’s… she’s fine. And me and you are alright, in that respect.”

“Thank you.”

“You can go for coffee with Mithian. Just please don’t tell her my ticklish spots? She’ll exploit them and then everyone will know that I shriek like a girl.”

“I promise, I won’t tell her how ticklish you are.”

Arthur turns away from the window, finally, and laughs, coming back over to the sofa. He sits beside Merlin this time, feet up on the coffee table, and puts on the news.


End file.
